


Consolation Prize

by JRosemary



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JRosemary/pseuds/JRosemary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not enough to help Peter catch Keller. Neal wants to bring him to tears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Season Three Summer Finale. Written for the White Collar Hurt/Comfort Community's Abductapalooza Fic Fest. Here is Lady Dragoness's prompt:
> 
> Elizabeth is back home, safe, unharmed. Keller got away . . . they think. Neal is sick and tired of Keller coming back into his life and screwing things around. So he takes matters into his own hands, punishing Keller himself. Bonus if he makes Keller cry without making him bleed.

Part of me still cringes when I remember how Keller found me after Kate left. My memory of that night is a little foggy, but I can still see him strolling into the sparse apartment—as if I’d invited him—and stopping short at the sight of me. He took in my disheveled clothes and wild hair without a word. Not to mention the empty bottles of cheap wine that littered the table.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Where’s Kate?”

I swallowed. “No idea.”

“She left you, huh? Wow, who could’ve seen that coming?”

“Fuck you.”

He grinned as he walked up to the table and started collecting the bottles. I watched through blurred eyes as he brought them over to the sink, rinsed them out and put them in the recycling bin. Keller was surprisingly conscientious about stuff like that.

Half of me wanted him to leave me the hell alone. The other half didn’t. That explains the stupid suggestion that came out of my mouth. Well, that and the wine. “Wanna—wanna play some chess?”

He shook his head as he turned back to face me. “I don’t think your head would be in the game right now.”

“So? Easy win.”

“That’s not what I’m after.”

I tried to ask him what he was after—apart from the next score—but something about his expression stopped me. It was half measuring and half . . . I don’t know. Wistful, maybe. But that didn’t make sense; Keller never wasted his time being wistful. If he wanted something, he went after it.

“She’s gone,” I said instead.

He nodded. “Yeah.

“I want her back.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

I glared at him. “She’s worth it. She’s the one.”

“If you say so, Caffrey. Come on—let’s get you cleaned up and into bed.”

 

~oOo~

 

“Neal?”

I started at the sound of my name and the sudden weight of Peter’s hand on my shoulder. I stopped myself from jumping out of my chair, though, and managed to fix a smile in place as I looked up at him. “Hey. Didn’t know you were still here.”

He pulled a chair up to my desk, cocking his head at me as he sat down. “Everything ok? You were staring into space.”

“Was I? I must be more tired than I thought.”

“Yeah. It’s almost nine. I sent you home two hours ago.”

I feigned a nonchalant shrug. “I grabbed a bite and decided to come back. There were a couple of cold cases I wanted to look over . . .”

He took the files off of my desk. I felt my stomach clench as he perused them. At length he gave me that look—the one that makes me feel like a five year old in trouble with his dad.

He dropped the files back in place. “Keller’s a suspect in all of these.”

I nodded.

“Neal, I told you not to look into him on your own. You have a hunch, you come to me. You know what that son of a bitch is capable of!”

“I don’t have a hunch, Peter! That’s the problem. And that’s why I’m looking through these. I just want to see if anything strikes me. Anything that will help us figure out where he’s hiding.”

“If you want to look through old files on him, you ask me first. Hell, if you so much as think about Keller, I want to know. I’m not going to have you going off half-cocked—”

“I won’t!”

“You want to talk about your track record?”

“Peter—”

“End of discussion,” he said, standing up. “Come on. You’re coming home with me.”

I forced myself to bite back a sigh of frustration. Since the ‘treasure incident,’ Peter was keeping me on a tight leash, as if I needed a 24/7 babysitter. He even halved my radius, which almost didn’t matter, since he insisted I spend most of my time at Chez Burke. And when I wasn’t a guest at his house, he kept an eye glued to my tracking data. I don’t know how the man got any sleep.

I tried not to complain too often because, as Peter liked to remind me, the alternative was prison. I figured Peter-as-babysitter was preferable. Barely.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “Let me get my coat.”

 

~oOo~

 

It was steadily raining when we stepped outside. We hurried to the Taurus, climbed inside and buckled our seatbelts—but Peter didn’t start the car. He paused with the key in the ignition and then turned toward me. “I talked to Hughes and Bancroft,” he said. “Just before I found you back at your desk. Your paperwork should be ready to sign tomorrow.”

I managed a wry smile as I pulled up my pant leg, revealing the tracker. “Two extra years to my sentence.”

“That’s the deal—if you’re sure you want to go through with this.”

“It’s better than prison.”

He gave me a pointed look. “Prison’s not the only alternative.”

I shut my eyes for a moment. Unofficially, Peter knew everything about the treasure incident now. What I hadn’t told him, he had pieced together for himself. But officially—officially the blame was falling partly on me and partly on Keller.

“No,” I told him, opening my eyes as I shook my head. “I’m not flipping on Mozzie.”

“He’d understand if you did—I’ll say that much for him.”

“I don’t care.”

Peter turned back to the windshield and gripped the steering wheel. “Neal, he stole that loot and pressured you into going along with the crime.”

“If he did, it was my own fault for giving in to peer pressure.”

“So you get two extra years of the anklet while he walks? Is that really how you want to play this?”

I twisted in my seat so I could face him. “Peter, Moz risked his life—and his freedom, which he cares even more about—to help get Elizabeth back.”

“El would never have been in danger if he hadn’t stolen the loot in the first place. And he took a hit out on Keller, Neal! Don’t try to deny that.”

I bit my lip. Vigilante justice is never the way to go, as far as Peter’s concerned. Even now, he wanted to hunt Keller down only to put him behind bars. Of course, he would shoot Keller in a second if he had a legitimate reason to. Unfortunately, Keller would never be stupid enough to give him one.

I took a deep breath. “Peter, whatever Moz did or didn’t do, I think—I think he was trying to protect me. He was afraid Keller was gunning for me.”

“If you two would have come to me, you’d have had much better protection.”

“You didn’t exactly make that easy, Peter.”

He glared at me, but then his gaze softened. “You’re right. But that’s not an excuse, Neal. And it sure as hell doesn’t excuse Moz.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as Peter finally started up the car. There was no talking to him about this now. He was furious with Moz, and I didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

Despite the fact that my hemming and hawing with the treasure gave Keller the opportunity to kidnap El, my friendship with Peter was still intact. Well, not quite intact, but Peter had started to forgive me—maybe because he could punish me appropriately.

But Keller’s move had destroyed any sympathy Peter had for Moz, and any chance that Peter would allow me to see or talk to him for the foreseeable future. As far as Peter was concerned, Moz was a ‘negative influence on my chances at recovery’—recovery from my addiction to criminal behavior, that is.

I turned my head to stare out the window as Peter pulled into traffic. I understood where Peter was coming from. And, to be honest, I had my own issues with Mozzie right now. But I couldn’t testify against him. Prison would kill him.

No, I’d save my testimony for Keller.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter and I lapsed into a companionable silence on the ride back to Brooklyn. I studied his face as we crossed the bridge, trying to figure out how I would capture the rough edges of his profile with charcoal pencils—and how to do justice to the expression he wore whenever he stole a glance at me.

It was a familiar expression: part fatherly, part brotherly, and part something else. Satisfied, maybe. Satisfied to know that he had two extra years to shape me into someone who deserved a white picket fence. I wanted him to shape me into that person, but I feared he was working with inferior raw material.

I looked down at my anklet and then back out the window. I didn’t mind the two extra years. I didn’t mind the extra time to try to become the kind of son or younger brother that Peter deserved. Mozzie would never understand that, though. He was still stewing over the fact that I had chosen Peter over our escape.

Ironically, Keller understood my choice. And, unlike Mozzie, he didn’t judge me for it. If I wanted to stay and be Peter’s pet convict, fine. Hell, he thought I should've decided in favor of Peter sooner.

But Keller's understanding shouldn’t have surprised me. He always said I needed a keeper.

 

~oOo~

 

“Jesus, Neal, could you give me a little help here?”

I kept fumbling with the bottom button of my shirt, which didn’t want to come undone. “I am—I am helping,” I said, wondering why the words were so hard to get out.

With a grunt of frustration, Keller took hold of my hands and forced me to put them at my sides. We went through that a few times, though, because I wouldn’t keep them there. I still wanted to help.

At last he got the final button undone and my shirt off. Then, after pushing my hands aside a few more times, he unbuttoned my trousers and helped me step out of them. I started giggling, because the thought of Matthew-Keller-as-valet was unaccountably funny—but a glimpse at his expression convinced me to shut up.

Once I was stripped down to my wife-beater and boxers, he gave me a shove toward the bed. “Get some sleep,” he ordered. “I’ll come back in the morning to discuss some business.”

I climbed onto the bed and sat there, trying to piece together his words.“Business—no. Kate’s gone. Can’t think about business now.”

“Maybe it’ll get your mind off of her. We’ll see how you feel tomorrow.”

“No—don’t go.” I should have been embarrassed to plead like that, but all I could think about was spending the rest of my life alone. “Don’t. I—I need company.”

He stared at me. At length he shrugged, apparently resigned. He walked over to the bed and took a seat next to me. “So. I’m here. Now what?”

I trained my eyes on the floor, ignoring the way my vision blurred. “She left me because—I think because of that job with Alex.”

“I figured she would. For future reference, running off to Copenhagen with another girl is not the way to keep a romance alive. Where’s Alex now? Did she dump you too?”

“She’s in a hospital. In France.”

He whistled. “Things must have really gone bad.”

“Yeah.”

I expected him to pump me for information about the job, but he kept quiet. I almost wanted him to interrogate me—I wanted an excuse to get angry. Instead I felt tears start streaming down my face.

Keller glanced at me and then rolled his eyes. But he didn't leave. He sighed instead and put an awkward arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him and started sobbing.

He patted my shoulder in a vague kind of way. “And we’re on a crying jag,” he said. “Man, this night just keeps getting better.”

 

~oOo~

 

I sighed as I continued to stare out the passenger window of the Taurus. “He wasn’t always such a bastard,” I said.

Peter glanced at me. His reflection wore a confused look. “Keller, you mean?”

“Yeah,” I said, turning back to him. “Believe it or not, when Kate left me, he was there for me.”

“When Kate left you?” We were almost home, but Peter pulled over to the curb, taking up an illegal spot. He turned off the car and then shifted so that he was facing me. “I thought you didn’t meet him till later. In Monaco.”

“I, ah—I never said exactly when we were in Monaco. I’ve known Keller for a long time.”

Peter swore under his breath.

I felt a twinge of guilt. I had a bad habit of telling him the truth, but misleading him at the same time. I wanted to be completely open and honest with him, but—well, every time I tried, something came up.

“Let me get this straight,” Peter said, speaking up again. “Keller was around when Kate broke up with you? Does that mean he was involved with the music box job in Copenhagen?”

“Hell no. Alex would never have trusted him enough.”

“What about your scheme to con Adler?”

“No, he wasn’t involved with that either. I would have told you if he were, Peter. I left him out of my story about the Adler years because—well, he didn’t seem relevant.”

“How well did he know Kate?”

I felt my whole body stiffen. “He—I don’t know.”

Peter gave me a disbelieving look. “You don’t know?”

“He knew her. He didn’t pull any jobs with her because—well, he didn’t think she was reliable.”

Peter just grunted at that. I narrowed my eyes at him; he’d never held a high opinion of Kate.

“Do you think Kate would have turned to Keller for help?” he asked.

“Help with what? Disappearing on me?”

“Yeah.”

I opened my mouth to tell him off, but abruptly shut it again. “Why are you asking?”

“I’ve been wondering for a while how Kate disappeared—and how Keller came to know so much about the treasure. Maybe the two are connected.”

“They’re not. And why don’t you think Kate was capable of disappearing on her own? She learned a lot from me.”

“Actually, up until now, I thought—well, it doesn’t matter.”

“That she had help from Adler?”

He nodded.

I clenched my fists.

“Neal, I’m not suggesting that she was sleep—that she was, you know, romantically involved with either Adler or Keller. Only that she might have accepted help from one or the other of them. Even if Adler held her against her will later—”

“You don’t think it was against her will, do you?”

“What I think about that doesn’t matter. Look, she could have learned about the treasure at any point from Adler. Back when she was working for him, when she disappeared on you, or later when he was allegedly holding her. If she was also in contact with Keller at any of those times . . .”

He let his voice trail off.

I stared down at my hands.

“Neal?” His tone was surprisingly gentle. And surprisingly disarming.

I unclenched my fists, looked up at him and sighed. “Peter, when Keller gave me that challenge with the bottle, he claimed that he’d been seeing Kate while I was in prison.”

“Ok. Did you believe him?”

I shrugged. “I—I wasn’t sure. He was trying to get to me; he wanted to rile me up. But now—now I’m pretty sure he was lying.”

“Why?”

“Mozzie always thought there was something between them—that Keller had a thing for her. But in truth . . .”

It was my turn to let my voice trail off. I turned back to the window.

“In truth?” Peter prompted.

I shrugged again. “In truth, I think Keller had an even lower opinion of Kate than you did.”


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s going to be ok, Neal,” Keller told me as he kept patting my shoulder. There was a long-suffering note in his voice, but his customary mocking tone was absent. “I know it don’t seem like it now, but you’ll get over her.”

I gulped, trying to control my sobs. “No! I have to find her—”

“If she doesn’t want to see you, she doesn’t want to see you. Come on—time for bed.”

I pushed away from him. “You—you see this as your chance, don’t you?”

“My chance?” He furrowed his brow. “Oh, you mean for Kate?”

I glared at him. “Yeah.” Then a new thought struck me. Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach . . . and not because of the wine. “Damn it, if you were shacking up with her this whole time—”

“While you were off playing games with Alex, you mean?” The bastard paused to grin at me. “Guess what, Neal? You’ll never know.”

I shoved him. “I swear, Keller, if you—”

He laughed. Not a sarcastic laugh—it sounded like he was genuinely amused. “You’re not in any condition to challenge me to a duel, Caffrey. Settle down.”

“But—”

“Come on.”

He was urging me to lie down, I realized. I tried to keep up my anger, but it took too much energy. Why was I upset again? Oh yeah. Kate. She was gone. But she couldn’t have turned to Keller, I told myself. No matter how angry she’d been, she would never betray me with him.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. No use—I was drunk off my ass and stuck on the fact that I couldn’t face an empty apartment. I gave up and settled back on the bed.

Keller pulled the covers up over me. “You want me to get you some water or something before I go?”

I grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t leave!”

He rolled his eyes as he sat back down. “You’re a damn needy drunk, Caffrey.”

“Just don’t—don’t wanna be alone.”

“Yeah, so I gathered. You need a fucking keeper, you know that?”

“Kate—”

“Kate’s not the one to look after you, believe me. Let go of my arm. I’m not going anywhere.”

I released him and sank back into the pillows. I wanted to argue with him about Kate. I wanted to explain how we always looked after each other. But every time I opened my mouth it seemed like too much effort. Eventually I gave up and drifted off to sleep.

 

~oOo~

 

“Neal? We’re home.”

That was Peter. He was shaking me awake. I must have fallen asleep for the last little part of the ride.

“Sorry,” I said through a yawn.

“It’s ok. Come on.”

I nodded and followed him out of the car, across the street and up the steps of Chez Burke. We stopped at the door and smiled at each other as we heard an excited bark from Satchmo.

I stepped back as Elizabeth opened the door and watched her embrace her husband. When they broke apart, she strode back toward the dining room without acknowledging my presence.

Peter sighed and waved me inside. I gave him a nonchalant shrug as I closed the door behind me, but I felt my stomach twist at the way his forehead crinkled. I know he was trying to think of a way to fix things between me and El. She blamed me for what happened—even more than she blamed Keller or Moz.

I wondered why Mozzie escaped her wrath. Probably because he didn’t disappoint Peter. I did.

"It's ok, Peter," I whispered as I walked past him into the dining room. I stepped up to El, who was setting a plate of lasagna on a table set for two.

"Ah, should I grab another plate?" I asked. "We should have warned you that I was coming."

Her voice was short and clipped as she answered. "This is for you two. Peter texted me. I ate already."

"Oh, ok. Thank you."

She gave me a terse nod before turning on her heel and disappearing into the kitchen. I glanced back at Peter, who was kneeling on the floor, petting Satch. I took a deep breath as I turned around and followed El.

I found her putting food away in the fridge. “Can I give you a hand?”

She shook her head without turning to look at me.

“Elizabeth, I—”

“Stop, Neal.” Her whole body stiffened as she spoke. And she still didn’t turn around. She just stared into the fridge. “Please stop.”

I opened my mouth and then slammed it shut. I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me, and backed out of the kitchen.

Peter was still kneeling on the floor when I reached the dining room. He was scratching behind Satch’s ears, but his attention was on me.

“Maybe we should eat before it gets cold,” I managed.

“Yeah,” he agreed as he stood up and walked over to the table. He put a hand on my shoulder as he sat down. “It’s going to take time.”

I stared down at the lasagna instead of answering. Peter still hoped that we could go back to the way things were before the treasure. That I would be like family again—and that Elizabeth would start defending my ‘shenanigans’ again. But I knew that I’d never get that easy, comfortable relationship with her back.

Keller had seen to that.


	4. Chapter 4

The rain had tapered off, so after dinner I went out to the patio with the sketch book and charcoal pencils that I kept in the Burkes’ guest room. I was trying to stay out of El’s way as much as possible. So I sat down, put my feet up on a spare chair and tried to capture the hard edges of Peter’s profile as I had seen them in the car.

I sketched for a while, shading and cross-hatching and cursing at the glaring back-yard light. But Peter’s face gradually came to life on the paper. I smiled—I almost had that expression of his down. The one that’s somehow strict and gentle at the same time.

I closed my eyes and leaned back in the chair, surprised at how much at home I felt. If I hadn’t fucked things up so badly with that damn treasure—if my actions hadn’t put El in the line of fire . . .

I felt my stomach clench in anger. I should have told Peter about the treasure from the first. But what happened to El—that was as much on Mozzie and Keller as it was on me. And the rift between me and El was all on Keller.

I wanted him to pay. Peter and El were the closest thing I had to family now. To have El look at me with revulsion . . .

I didn’t want to kill Keller. I wasn’t the same stupid kid who went after Fowler half cocked. No, I wanted to help Peter catch and arrest him. But that wasn’t enough. I knew Keller—he wouldn’t suffer nearly enough in prison. He’d detach himself from his circumstances and figure out a way to change them or make the best of them.

I opened my eyes and set the picture of Peter down on the table. There was something incongruous about staring at Peter and dreaming about revenge on Keller at the same time. I could almost hear Peter telling me to do the right thing and let the chips fall as they fell. Our job was to put Keller in prison—not to worry about whether he would suffer enough once he got there.

I bit my lip and let my thoughts drift back to the night when I was so smashed and heartbroken that I had begged Keller to stay. The memory of it had me cringing again. I almost never drank like that—it figured that one of the few times I did, Keller was there to see it.

 

~oOo~

 

“Move over, Caffrey.”

I mumbled something and shoved over, opening one eye as I felt the weight on the bed shift. Keller was taking a seat on the edge of the mattress and toeing off his shoes. Then he stretched out on his back, still dressed and still outside the covers. Fair enough—I had begged him to stay, and I couldn’t expect him to sleep on the floor or one of the chairs.

The faint scent of cigarette smoke clung to him. Another reason Kate wouldn’t have slept with him, I told myself. She hated that smell.

I poked him. “How can someone who’s so careful with the recycling smoke?”

He shrugged as he put his hands behind his head. “I started young. Got addicted.”

“Ever tried to quit?”

“Yup. My little brother always used to hassle me to stop.”

I squinted at him. He‘d never mentioned any family before. Of course, I’d never mentioned mine to him either. Or to Kate. Or to Alex. Or even to Mozzie.

“Used to?” I asked. “Are you out of touch?”

“Well, yeah. He died.”

His voice was flat. My brain was fuzzy from the alcohol, but I didn’t think it should be flat like that.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Really sorry.”

He shrugged again.

“How’d he die?”

“No way, Neal. You don’t get that story.”

“I’m too drunk to remember it in the morning.”

“I know. That’s the only reason I mentioned him in the first place.” He paused to turn his head toward me. “Well, that, and you kinda remind me of him.”

I blinked at him. “You think of me as a brother?”

He laughed. “That’s not what I said.” Then he brought one arm down and gave me a friendly shove. “Get some sleep.”

 

~oOo~

 

“You’re going to get eaten alive out here.”

I glanced over my shoulder and then smiled up at Peter. “I’ll be fine.”

He walked over to the table and took a seat next to me. I watched him peer down at the sketch of himself. He stared at it, and then raised his eyebrows as he turned back to me. He looked impressed.

“That’s good, Neal. Very good.”

My face reddened, but I felt my stomach flutter at the compliment, as if I’d just gotten a shot of adrenaline. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Look, about Elizabeth . . .”

“She’s entitled to be angry with me, Peter. It’s ok.”

“I just don’t want you to think this is forever.”

My stomach sank and I let my eyes fall to the table. “No? Maybe you should stop thinking that things will go back to the way they were.”

“I never said they would.” He paused to put a hand on my arm. “Things between you and me aren’t the same either. And they never will be. But they’re good.”

I looked up at him, surprised. I knew things were better, but I didn’t know we’d reached ‘good’ yet. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now let’s talk about tomorrow—”

“Does Keller have any relatives?” I interrupted.

Peter cocked his head at me. “Where’d that come from?”

“He had a little brother that I think he cared about. The kid died, but maybe there’s someone else he kept in touch with.”

Peter gave me a funny look. “Did Keller tell you his brother died?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” Peter put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand.

“What is it?”

“Matthew Keller had only one sibling that we know of. A younger brother who left home when he turned eighteen—when the brother turned eighteen, I mean. Not Keller. We haven’t been able to track him down.”

“Keller said he died. And I don’t think he was lying.”

Peter furrowed his brow. “Ok. Did he say how?”

“No. He said I couldn’t have that story. He also said—he also said that I reminded him of his brother.”

That earned me another funny look from Peter. Not that I was surprised.

“I’d really like to know how he died,” I said.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. “So would I.”


	5. Chapter 5

Peter and I marched straight into his office the next morning. I perched on his desk and grabbed one of the files on Keller. Peter swatted my ass with another file and shooed me into my chair. I smiled at the gesture, which had been far more fatherly and affectionate than annoyed. Maybe we really were getting better.

We spent the rest of the morning reviewing all the information the FBI had acquired on Sean Keller. He had been a person of interest for a while—not for any crime, but in case he was someone Keller could turn to while he was on the run.

I stared at the pictures we had of Sean. All of them were from his high school year book. He looked like a younger, skinnier version of his old brother. A more artistic version too. Keller had a good eye for art, but he had no particular talent in creating it. Sean, on the other hand, had been a painter and photographer in high school.

I frowned as I looked up at Peter, who was standing on the other side of his desk, staring down at the photos. “We have nothing on Sean after high school?”

Peter shook his head. “No. He left Brooklyn at eighteen and disappeared.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“We start interviewing the people who knew him. We spoke to two cousins a while back—”

“So Keller does have other family!”

“Yeah, but they weren’t close to either brother. All they knew is that Sean walked away and never came back. They had a plausible guess as to why he left, though. Apparently Keller’s father had a tendency to get violent.”

I digested that. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Keller must have learned it from somewhere.”

“Yeah. But there’s a difference. Keller’s father got violent when he was drunk and irrational. Keller, on the other hand, seems a lot more calculating about it. He doesn’t get off on it; it’s just a tool he uses when it proves efficient.”

I nodded. Peter was right—violence was just one tool out of many to Keller. He had no special love for it. No aversion to it either, though.

Keller, I decided, was too detached from life in general to get off on violence. I closed my eyes, thinking about how dispassionately he had killed Hale and kidnapped El. Then I imagined his face in front of me. I wanted to smash it. Or, better yet, I wanted to smash through that detachment. I wanted to make him cry. Not from physical pain, but from genuine emotional angst. I wanted him to have a taste of what I was experiencing.

“So what about Sean’s high school friends?” I asked, opening my eyes again.

Peter nodded. “That’s where we start.”

 

~O~

 

Diana and Jones proved invaluable in tracking down leads; they manned the investigation at the Bureau while Peter and I paid a few calls. Our first step was the Keller brothers’ alma mater. We found an English teacher—or a Language Arts teacher, rather—who remembered Sean well.

Adele Greenstein was probably in her mid-sixties. She was a sturdy woman with a no-nonsense air to her that precluded any artificial enhancements to her looks. She had even allowed her long, french-braided locks to turn iron gray.

“He was a sweet kid,” she told us as she leaned back on her desk and crossed her ankles. “Talented too. Art, photography . . .”

“Do you remember his older brother Matthew?” Peter asked.

“Of course. They were both in my homeroom, but in different years. He was a little more—oh, I don’t know. Hardened and cynical than Sean. But that might have been a good thing.”

“Why?”

She sighed. “It helped him protect Sean.”

“Protect him?” I repeated. “From what?”

“Maybe from his father, but I can’t swear to that. Child services investigated once or twice, but they never removed either boy from their home. And here at school—well, Sean was gay, and more out than you would think was possible back then. Matthew kept anyone from giving him a problem.”

Peter and I exchanged glances, and then Peter turned back to Mrs. Greenstein.

“Do you have any idea where either boy is now?” Peter asked.

“No. Neither kept in touch or returned to visit. I wish they had, because I’d like to see both of them again.” She paused, giving us a hard look. “Are they in trouble?”

Peter met her gaze. There was an apologetic note in his voice as he answered. “Matthew is wanted for more than one violent crime. But we’d like to talk to Sean too, if only to help us find his brother.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you sure? Matthew was always . . . formidable, but he was a decent kid. He looked after Sean, he was good with most of the other students, and he was helpful around the classroom. Friendly too—I can remember him trying to teach me to play chess. Serious chess, I mean. More than just moving the pieces.”

I exchanged glances with Peter again. We were both wondering what happened to change that “decent kid.”

 

~O~

 

I sighed as I closed my laptop, leaned back in my chair and shut my eyes. We hadn’t had any more luck today with tracking down Keller’s little brother, but we already had a longer list of people to interview tomorrow.

I took a deep breath and imagined Peter slapping cuffs on Keller, but that left me unsatisfied. I still wanted to make the bastard lose his infuriating sense of detachment. I wanted to make him miserable. I wanted him to drown in the damn misery.

I opened my eyes as the back door opened. Peter stepped onto the patio and ruffled my hair as he took a seat beside me.

I was back at the Burkes' for the night. Peter was still worried about me "obsessing" over Keller, so he wasn't letting me out of his site. Between that and the hair ruffling, he was treating me like a five year old. I tried to be angry, but couldn't manage it. Time to admit the truth: I loved it when Peter played his father-figure card.

"How'd your on-line meeting go?" he asked. Then he hesitated, almost blushing. "Am I allowed to ask about that?"

I had joined Reentry Anonymous in the wake of the treasure fiasco. Peter didn't force me; I found the program for dealing with criminal addiction on my own. I decided to tell Peter about it, going off the idea that support from 'family' was important. And maybe I was trying to impress him too.

I had also confided in Elizabeth. She nodded stiffly and wished me well—and went back to pretending that I didn't exist.

I brushed that thought aside and gave Peter a warm smile. "Yeah, it's fine. I chose not to be anonymous with you, remember? And the meeting went ok. I think I'm making progress."

"Good. Does your sponsor agree?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, as of yesterday. I won't be talking to him one-on-one again till tomorrow."

"Are you going to mention Keller?"

"Peter, I know better than to give out details about a case."

"I was hoping that he could help me keep you from going off half-cocked."

"I won't. I promise."

Peter gave me a look. "I'm going to hold you to that—even if I have to handcuff you to me."

I squelched the temptation to roll my eyes. Instead, I offered Peter my wrist. He grinned and tousled my hair again.

"Come on," he said. "It's getting late. And we've got a long day tomorrow."

"Yeah. More interviews with people who knew Sean Keller."

"Right. But don't get your hopes up. We may not find anyone who knows what happened to him."


	6. Chapter 6

Elizabeth left before I came downstairs the next morning. (Imagine my surprise.) Peter was sitting at the dining room table, finishing his cereal. He waved me over to the seat opposite him.

I shot him a mischievous glance as I sat down, grabbed the sugary cereal, and dug for the prize. I frowned. “No sheriff's badge this time.”

He grinned. “No. I think there's some kind of action figure in there, though. But before you keep digging, there's something we overlooked yesterday.”

I freed my hand and put the cereal box down. “About Keller?”

“No. About your paperwork.”

“Oh yeah. Don't worry: I'm ready to sign.” I paused, smiling as I cocked my head at him. “Come on, Peter. Don't tell me you're not thrilled to have me under your thumb for two more years.”

“No, I'm not thrilled. And I still think Mozzie should pay for his part—”

“Peter. Don't.”

He stared at me for a moment and then shrugged. “I’m not thrilled, but I am relieved, Neal. I like knowing that I've got two extra years to try to make an honest citizen out of you.”

“Think it'll take that long?”

“What do they say in those meetings of yours?”

“They say to take it day by day—or minute by minute.”

Peter smiled. “Probably good advice.” He paused to nod at the cereal. “Eat your breakfast so we can get going.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Dad.”

 

~oOo~

 

I signed the papers as soon as we arrived at the Bureau. Peter was sitting opposite me at his desk. I caught him watching me intently as I put the pen down. I can usually read him pretty well, but his expression baffled me. Was he still pissed that Moz was getting off scot free? Maybe. But I suspect he was deeply satisfied at the thought of owning my ass for even longer.

I wish I could explain that the paperwork didn’t matter; Peter owned me regardless. It’s twice now that I seriously considered running and twice that I couldn’t do it. And it wasn’t a piece of paper holding me back. It was everything Peter was offering me: the home he had opened up to me; the sense of family he was trying to give me; the paternal pride I saw in his eyes whenever I did something clever or something good.

I felt almost comforted. Maybe I really could make it through the next four years—and the rest of my life—without landing back in prison. I wanted to please Peter, after all. I wanted to see that paternal pride in his eyes not just on occasion, but every time he glanced my way.

But even if I could avoid more hard time, I knew things wouldn’t be the way they were before. Peter still opened his house to me, but El’s coldness made the home seem like an obstacle course, not a refuge. And the breach between Peter and Moz was unlikely to heal. Hell, I wasn’t sure the breach between me and Moz would ever heal.

I pushed those thoughts aside and forced a half-smile on my face as I shoved the papers toward Peter. He picked up his own pen, signed his parts, and then stood up.

“I’ll give these to Hughes,” he said, his voice surprisingly gruff. “Then we’ll get going.”

 

~oOo~

 

We got lucky on our first try of the day. Lisa Kirpatrick—a pretty black woman with a seriously creative hair-dresser—was home and willing to talk. She led us into her Chelsea apartment, which was littered with canvases, oil paints, brushes, palette knives and rags.

I cocked my head at a painting that was nearly completed. She had used the traditional Mixed Technique to a startling effect. My eyes nearly glazed over from the assault of butter-cup yellow and techno-green.

She caught me perusing the painting and grinned. “What do you think?”

“It’s eye-catching.”

“Meaning you hate it.”

“Not at all. I—”

But she laughed as she waved her hand at me. “Don’t bother. I recognize the look. And I have no problem admitting that my real genius is marketing. You don’t even want to know what I get for these.”

I grinned back at her. “Enough to keep you in style in Chelsea.”

“Exactly.”

“Miss Kirpatrick,” Peter interrupted, “What can you tell us about Matthew and Sean Keller?”

“I used to hang out with both of them. Sean and I were the same year, and we were always in the art room together. Matthew hung out there a lot too, at least until he graduated. Probably to keep an eye on Sean; he was real protective of him.”

“Did you keep in touch with Sean after high school?” I asked.

She gave me an odd look. “No. He died not too long afterward.”

I glanced at Peter, but he was narrowing his eyes at her. “How did you hear about Sean’s death?”

“From Matthew. I was at the School of Visual Arts; he made sure to drop by and tell me.”

“When?” I asked.

She frowned. “I think it was toward the end of my first semester. Matthew said he died over the summer.”

“Did he say how?”

“No. I guessed it was AIDS—Sean was kind of a slut, to be honest, and back then all my gay friends seemed to be in danger.”

Peter furrowed his brow. “Do you remember him being ill?”

She shook her head. “No, not especially. He was always a scrawny kid, but I don’t remember him looking sick.” She paused to shrug. “Maybe it wasn’t HIV. I just assumed it was because Matthew didn’t want to go into specifics. A lot of people were still quiet about the disease then.”

Peter asked her a few more questions while my brain went into overdrive. Sean dying of AIDS made sense; it would explain why he disappeared without anyone advertising the reason. It would explain why he ran away from home, too—especially if his father was a nasty guy who didn’t want to own up to a diseased gay son.

But I knew Keller. If his brother had died of AIDS, he wouldn’t have been ashamed to say so. If he was as attached to Sean as Adele Greenstein and Lisa Kirpatrick seemed to think, he’d have been blunt with everyone, including me—and then he would have beaten the crap out of anyone who cared to make a disparaging remark.

In fact, I couldn’t think of a good reason for Keller to hide what his brother died of, no matter how the kid had died. Assuming that Keller had told Lisa and me the truth, and Sean really was dead.

One thing seemed clear: Sean was my ticket to destroying Keller cool facade. Whatever happened to the poor kid, I could use his memory to smash through that cool detachment Keller showed to the world.

I glanced at Peter again. He was still questioning Lisa, so he didn’t read anything off my expression. Good. Not that it mattered—I wasn’t planning on doing anything wrong. I would play this by the book, exactly as Peter wanted.

After all, I wouldn’t have to lay a hand on Keller to make him cry.


End file.
